Memories: Peter's back home.

Mo: Peter was keen to see the house where he lived from 1955-1964. It was interesting to see him drive there - as if he had never been away. He just drove straight there, commenting a bit on the passing scene. e.g. 'That's where the trig point stone marking the highest point for thirty miles used to be.' (Highest point? The road's dead level!) 'That's the school where I went for a little while when I was five - the little girls wore blue dresses with white daisies on them. Tesa (Peter's mother) thought they were so pretty.' Anyway, he drove slowly up the road and found the house, somewhat changed but completely recognisable. He could identify specific trees by the road. He was so delighted to see it. It was lovely.

Peter: There is now a tarred road there.

The original house had been burnt down in the last five years and been rebuilt. I think (from using Google Earth) that the plot had been abandoned for some years after the house was burnt.

Perhaps an acre and a half of the garden had been sold off but most of it was still there. Fruit trees had vanished - oranges, lemons, tangerines, pawpaws, pomegranates, guavas, etc. The reason would probably have been water problems. Too much of the groundwater had been exhausted to permit irrigation, even in the 1960s. Municipal water was too expensive. And global warming is hitting Zimbabwe.
The enormous, ugly 40 foot high rubber hedge had been removed. Its chief use had been to protect the tomatoes from frost. The 14 foot high hibiscus hedge had been tamed.
The Jacarandas that had been enormous in the 1960s - visible across the city as a patch of purple - were now 65 years older and more magnificent. They're not in flower, though, at this time of year but you can spot them easily from space, using Google Earth, in November. The bougainvillea has been removed. It looks as though the present owner has been replacing flower beds, lawns and the tennis court with drought resistant plants, mainly indigenous ones. The acre or so of untouched native bush in parts of the garden remains untouched.
The block opposite formerly owned by Mrs Maidwell is now a mass of houses on one or two acre plots, looking great, with ornamental trees.

Mo:  The next day we found the house the family had lived in when Peter was seven to eleven. It was difficult to see in because of all the security fencing but we went up and peered through. Not surprisingly a gardener/security man appeared up the drive to the fence to see what on earth we were doing.

Peter said that he had lived here when he was little, and then - this was what made the man laugh in surprise and pleasure - that Sid, his father, had planted the big tree by the gate. So we all laughed and shook hands. It was great.











 

Peter: We also visited my primary school. Unchanged after 65 years, except the trees were bigger (including those we children planted on Conservation Day, all those years ago). And the playground, once bare earth, had now been grassed over. (Yes, that yellow stretch beyond the wall is grass - Mo.) The school uniform for girls was much the same. We boys wore khaki shirts and shorts - very practical for boys playing on red earth - they now wore much, much, smarter clothes, blazers, ties, long trousers.

Mo: Nobody minded us wandering about. We found one teacher still working in her classroom (which Peter remembered). We introduced ourselves and she was delighted to meet us. (Especially when I found she was teaching nine and ten year olds, an age I had enjoyed teaching. As I told her. ) She had been trying to compile a history of the school and Peter agreed he'd send her some memories of his when we got back home.

 Peter: Bulawayo Athletic Club This was started by  Rhodes. No racial discrimination was permitted, according to its constitution, but I think this meant against his Jewish business associates (it was ignored anyway). Again, it is hardly changed - except that there are four fewer tennis courts. The tennis courts were entirely unused on a Sunday morning which was a very busy time in the past. The bar did not open until noon! There was, however, a cricket match (all Black players). Evidently now a culture where people go to church rather than worshiping sport,

Mo: There are memories for Peter around every street corner. I've loved them. 'That's where I had my first milk shake!' ''Coghlan and Welsh! That's where both Tesa and John (Peter's brother) worked.' 'Oh - the snooker hall has gone!' 'That beautiful library building is where I changed my library books.' 'The city bus centre - here's where I changed buses every morning aged five, on my own, going to school.' And so on. And so on, even outside Bulawayo, with memories of picnics in the Matopos, and scrambling up kopjes, with the grass and high rock landscape, with the landscape generally. He's really come home and thoroughly enjoying it. 

Then, different memories appeared in Masvingo, the little town just near to Great Zimbabwe which we visited (and which we will put in some separate posting. It was amazing.) Masvingo is where Peter lived between the ages of five and six. He wondered if it was just possible that the school building (and the nearby tree) that he remembered would still be there. Though neither of us were optimistic. Or if there was still a police camp - which is where his father had been stationed.
Here is Peter (rather excitedly) looking up and down the main road out of Masvingo to Harare.

But there was no tree and no school. He asked a security person if there was a police camp, but drew a blank. Then the driver of parked car saw this and called him over. (Gosh, Zimbabweans have been so helpful!) He conferred with his wife and then directed us to a more residential bit of town where there was a hospital and a golf club - which sounded hopeful. 






We drove there slowly and a bit doubtfully. Suddenly Peter said, 'Stop stop! That's the golf course.' And so it was. With the police camp just a minute's walk further on and a hospital next door to it.  There were some women sitting around outside the hospital. Quite rightly, they looked at us very suspiciously. What could we be doing there, after all? So I went across and explained that he had lived there aged five and just wanted to see it. They melted and we all laughed and shook hands. Peter explained that he had been in the hospital but with malaria, nothing to do with pregnancy; it's now a maternity hospital. I was also pleased to see very site, the very roundabout where, as he has told me many times, (Jane, you will be excited too, I'm sure...) he first fell off a Shetland pony (aged 5?) and he has a clear memory of his father chasing it while trying to kick it. So I took a picture of the roundabout. Of course. And then he saw the house he had lived in, inside the camp. No there is no photo - Peter was always warned against taking photos of police, soldiers, airports and bridges in his aid work. Even taking photos of innocuous non-government buildings has landed him in trouble in the past, in other African countries.